


you, who so well know the nature of my soul,

by cynical_violet



Category: The Cask of Amontillado - Edgar Allan Poe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 03:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_violet/pseuds/cynical_violet
Summary: I have an English assignment to do where I write the backstory between Fortunato and Montresor, so here's the first chapter thing ig.UPDATE: I'M REALLY SORRY BUT I LOST THE REST OF MY FIC AND I'M SAD





	you, who so well know the nature of my soul,

Isolation, a feeling Montresor was all too familiar with. It was almost tenebrific, and clouded his better judgment most of the time. Montresor was like a hollow pit that would never fill; until he met a beacon of everlasting light. 

Dreaded and dreary was his first day of second grade, and Montresor had made no friends. Indeed, he was never bullied, yet he was unnoticed by a class of almost twenty others. It was upon the belated arrival of Fortunato that had brought luminescence to Montresor's dull life. He remembered exactly how the transformative day played out. 

Raindrops spattered and beaded on the single window of Montresor’s bedroom, whose transparency showed a pale gray sky from outside. His school clothes clung to him as he sat up, gazing vigilantly, for he had the least desire to attend this school today. No one would notice if he was there or not, so why did his absence matter?  
“Montresor!” Montresor’s ears stung at his mother’s shrill call from downstairs. “You are going to be late on your first day! The Headmaster will certainly not approve of this first impression.” 

Although Montresor had heard her words, they went over his bedhead. Sighing in response to another shout, Montresor reluctantly got off of his springy mattress and hauled his black backpack over his left shoulder. As he trudged down the not-so-grand grand stairway, Montresor could just imagine the scowl wrinkled on his mother’s thin face, once she laid eyes on her seven-year-old son in his school uniform. Mothers were always so brooding and condescending, he thought. 

The moment he reached the wood flooring at the bottom of the staircase his mother cut him off abruptly, a comb in one hand and a lunchbox in the other. She gave her usual huff at him, handed him his lunch, and proceeded to thoroughly rake his raven-colored hair aside with the comb. Spindles digging into his skull, all Montresor could do was grit his baby teeth and tense against the sharp, plastic punctures. To his comfort, she had finished combing his hair after a solid minute and sighed with satisfaction brimming her dark, hazel eyes. 

“Reeves! Montresor is ready to be driven to school,” she chimed in a false tone of delight as she notified our family butler through the house intercom.

A slurred reply came from the speaker, “Yes Madam.”

Ushering him out of the lavish, wooden double-doors, Montresor’s mom said to him, “Remember, eyes forward, back straight, and steady pace.”

“Yes ma’am,” Montresor replied in an unenthusiastic voice that was interrupted by the doors’ slam. 

Regardless, Montresor swiftly made his way to a lustrous, horse-drawn carriage with Reeves standing adjacent to his door. The butler’s gruff mustache covered his upper lip and nearly muffled his words directed at Montresor.

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted Montresor with a half-hidden grin as he opened the door for him. 

Slipping into the sleek interior of the carriage, Montresor nodded in acknowledgement to the family servant. For a moment, Reeves was poised outside with the door open, as if he expected Montresor to speak, but then realized he was allowing rain to drizzle into the coach. Baffled, he shut the door quickly, shuffled to his seat outside the carriage, that was partially sheltered by the rain. Once he was situated, it prompted him to start a conversation as the horses pulled them. 

“Rather dreary for your first day of school, wouldn’t you say so?” 

The optimism tingeing his sentence bothered Montresor to no end. How could one be so happy on a day like this? 

“I suppose,” he muttered intentionally low enough so that Reeves could not hear. 

To his bitter annoyance, Reeves had caught what he had mumbled and responded, “quite dreadful indeed.” 

Fortunately, that had been the last of their exchange, Montresor had been dropped off after the ten minute ride, and successfully reached his new classroom. The room was occupying about twenty students and only one teacher; all busy with lively, morning chatter. Although Montresor had passed several students and nearly walked into one, not even his teacher seemed to notice his arrival. It was as if he were invisible. He took a seat in an empty desk placed at the very front of its row, and waited for what came next. Nothing came, at least not to him. It was only when Mr. Smith had began attendance that Montresor had been acknowledged. Despite his longing to be noticed by the class, the realization that every eye was on him compelled a terrible surge in his gut. Their gazes were just like his mother's gaze, condescending. 

“Here,” he squeaked to his instructor, while he felt his insides squirm.

A nod was all that was received and then everyone carried on to the task on the board. Even though Montresor had an assignment to do, he couldn’t put a pencil into his sweaty palms. What was his parents going to say if he came home without any completed work? Their mouths would be full of nothing but chastisement, and they would declare that their own son was had soiled the family name indefinitely. Instead of plunging further into his anxious mindset, Montresor occupied his mind with rummaging through his bag for a writing utensil. Mrs. Smith had already distributed a piece of paper to each of his students, and had returned to his mahogany desk. Just as Montresor had found a pencil, the classroom door was flung open and there stood a boy with dusty brown hair and baby blue eyes. His classmates, including himself, gasped at such a sudden and boisterous entrance performed by such a small boy. Everyone was so intrigued by this boy, but the intrigue was based on caution.  
Montresor, however, had never been so absorbed in someone else as he was in this particular boy. The boy’s nutmeg locks were not swept aside like the default boy hairstyle, but were rather frayed into fitful tufts all about his head. His face was rounded and his beige cheeks had just the perfect amount of freckles on each. Who was this boy?

“Ah, Fortunato I presume?” Mr. Smith deducted from one glance at the boy.

“You bet!” the boy known as Fortunato exclaimed confidently as he puffed out his puny chest. 

Amusingly, notwithstanding his elevated confident temperament, Fortunato's height fell just short of Montresor’s own.  
“You’re late,” their teacher sneered. “I didn’t expect this from the boy upholding a very regal family.” 

“Well, you’re dealing with a new person now. You can’t possibly be silly enough to let the past blind your evaluation of me,” Fortunato challenged, which prompted dead silence throughout the classroom. 

“As a part of your family, you have to live up to the expectations, and you, young boy, are not,” Mr. Smith snapped. “Now take a seat before I make one for you next to my desk.” 

All that came from Fortunato was a shrug and snicker. The only empty seat were the three on all sides of Montresor, and his heart thumped with anticipation. As he took his seat, Fortunato gestured to catch Montresor’s attention.

“Is he usually this grouchy?” the elfish boy scrunched his face in humor of the situation and pointed a finger directly at their teacher. 

“ I don’t know,” Montresor lost all trace of sophistication as he whispered back. “It is the first day you know.” 

“Yes, but he acts like my family’s servant,” Fortunato giggled incessantly.

“That so?” Montresor rolled his eyes at this boy’s childish, but witty taunts. 

“Say, how about we become friends? I don’t know anyone real enough to accompany myself during these hours,” Fortunato’s tone was immature, but his words were quite clever and well-thought out; which impressed Montresor. 

Friends? Montresor’s never had any of those! Montresor felt a sense of fortune in his future, when granted friendship by this boy. 

“F-friends? I meant- I would love to- no, I would like to!” Montresor’s voice gained a surprising amount of animation to it as he spoke up. 

From that day on, Montresor managed to survive his years of schooling as long as he had Fortunato.


End file.
